Her Song
by Makodrake34
Summary: A man with a love for sounds makes an odd request to our favorite Death.


One thing that Davis Lovebird enjoyed most was sound, and especially music. He was able from a very young age to play the piano like a master, drum his heart out, and even sing on occasion. As he got older, he went around the world to discover the sounds it had to offer. Be it the roaring water of Niagara falls, the howling winds of deserts, to the breaking of ice sheets in the Arctic, he's found it all beautiful. Despite his passion, Davis Lovebird was still a lonely man. At the age of 32, he stood slightly taller than most and had a scarecrow-like figure. His hair ran wild red and most times people could not see his eyes. In his life, he believes he's perhaps loved twice but always women for their voices and not for their looks or personal charms. He wanted to be loved and be loved, and though he loved music and sound, he could not hold it. Perhaps one could touch the keys of the piano and the strings of other instruments but what they created cannot be touched. So, he fell into the dark thoughts of suicide.

It was simple, he thought. Davis Lovebird decided to jump off some old theater as a form of last irony. Yet the sounds from below held him still. He'd heard this piece many times before and its melody soothed his soul. "I can wait," he sighed. "Till your sweet climax." The sounds rose high reaching their peak. The trumpets and a booming crash echoed across the night air. Davis Lovebird closed his eyes and jumped.

"Did you really need to do that?" he heard from a woman standing next to him. "You've ruined the rest of the show."

Davis saw people running and screaming for medics and saw his pitiful body on the floor. Indeed, the music had stopped. "Its a pity. Stopped at the best part too." He looked at the woman and noted her pale porcelain skin and contrasting dark clothing. Had to be one of those Goths he'd heard about. Though she was quite cute, especially with that silver ankh around her neck seeming to glow from the moonlight.

"I have an odd feeling I have met you somewhere before, " he said aloud as ambulance cars came rushing to the scene and people moved out of their way.

"Perhaps, though you probably don't remember," she smiled and leaned against the railing of some stairs leading up to the theater.

"I'm not good with faces but maybe I met you in a dream." At that she smiled again and Davis felt his cheeks redden. Now, she walked toward him.

"I think it's time we left now Davis Lovebird." The lady stood before him and placed her hand up.

"Could I perhaps hear the you sing?"

Now it was she who seemed a bit embarrassed. "Excuse me?"

"You are my escort to the afterlife and I'd like to hear you sing. You can sing, dear lady?" he asked, shyly.

The dark-haired Goth blinked and laughed like the tinkering of bells. She continued so for about a minute till she saw Davis's face go sad. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she sincerely apologized, "It's just that in all this time I don't think anyone has ever asked me to sing. It's…nice but not unexpected for you to ask."

Davis Lovebird felt a smile spread across his face, "Well, if you want to that is…uh," he hummed, "my apologizes but do you have something I could call you by?"

"Sure. Hint is I don't wear the cloak and carry the scythe."

"The Reaper…no…Lady Death?" he asked. Already men were carrying his body away on a stretcher and the crowd was returning to the theater.

"Just Death actually, but you could call me that if you like." Inside, the music continued and was nearing its close as the final people returned to their seats inside. "What song would you like?"

"Do you not have your own song?" he whispered and sighed, seeming breathless. Do I love her, he mentally asked himself and he immediately knew he did.

Death smirked and held her hand up again. "I will let you hear it if you come with me, Davis Lovebird. I think I'd also like you to meet my brother. "

This time he took Death's hand and heard the sound of her wings. So beautiful to his ears, there was no comparison to anything else he'd heard, except a mixture of everything that he'd ever loved, hated, and cried about. Her wings were the sound of life and he realized they were all he ever needed to hear.

* * *

_Yes i should probably get smacked for putting this up for bad grammer and poor story but i couldn't help it. I just suddenly felt i should write about someone asking Death to sing and this is what i came up with, heh. If anyone comes up with a better idea for Death where singing is concerned, let me know cause I'd love to read it. Anyways, Death belongs to the awesome Neil Gaiman and i might throw in a few other stories this summer. So, everyone enjoy!_


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